


Some Year

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a new year looming in front of him, Martin regrets not keeping his resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Year

Martin unbuttoned his cuffs, pushing his sleeves up carelessly, and glanced down at his watch; 23:45. He reached for his drink and looked up at the main party crowd situated around the tower.

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes until the year was out. Fifteen minutes until time closed the book on a year of failure.

Martin took a long pull from his drink.

He was fifteen minutes away from failing to keep his New Year’s resolution.

Martin swore to himself at the beginning of the year that this would finally be _the_ year; this would finally be the year he got up the courage to ask Carl out or, at the very least, tell the controller how he felt about him. He’d been harboring personal feelings about their professional relationship for so long that even he had to admit there was nothing to gain from being the only one who knew. He had to tell Carl; he’d resolved to tell Carl.

However, three hundred and sixty-four days of waking up thinking ‘Today, I’ll do it today,’ and going to bed swearing ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow will be the day,’ had brought Martin to the annual Fitton Airfield New Year’s Eve party with no date, little to no resolve, and no prospects for the new year other than another drink and the empty bed in his drafty attic flat.

Martin finished his drink and set the cup aside.

“Some year,” he muttered to himself, folding his cuffs over at his elbows.

“Is that glass empty?”

Martin’s head snapped up at the sound of Carl’s voice.

Carl strode into the hangar, carrying two paper cups with folding handles in one hand and loosening his scarf with the other. He stopped in front of Martin, regarding him with a tilt of his head as he eyed the empty glass pointedly.

“Um, yeah,” Martin answered. “I just finished it.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “You can’t ring in the new year with an empty glass,” he scolded, his tone more teasing than serious. He motioned with his hand and Martin made room for him on the bench. “Don’t drink that until midnight,” he instructed, handing Martin one of the paper cups as he sat down. “I’m not getting you another one. It’s bloody cold out there.”

Martin nodded as Carl pulled off his scarf and hung it over the end of the bench. The cup was filled with a golden, bubbly liquid; champagne, probably.

“Thanks,” he said, the word petering out as he looked up.

Martin didn’t realize how close Carl was until he saw the other man smiling at him. They weren’t actually touching but their proximity was enough to make Martin acutely aware of Carl’s presence. He could smell Carl’s woodsy cologne. He could feel his body heat, which was tantalizingly warm despite Carl having just come in from the airfield. He drank in the details of Carl’s appearance: the crooked part of his hair, the curve of his mouth, the dark charcoal gray fabric of the waistcoat he wore that hugged his sides in a way that wasn’t fair at all.

“You’re welcome,” Carl said, drawing Martin’s eyes up to his face.

Martin felt his face flush; he hoped his staring hadn’t been as obvious as it felt.

The smile hovered on Carl’s lips as he watched Martin, as if waiting for something. Martin opened his mouth to speak, to ask him out, to say all the things he’d been holding in for so long but nothing came out. Silence, amicable but empty, fell and stretched out between them for what could’ve been seconds or minutes.

Eventually, Carl turned towards the party and the large hand-painted numbers that hung from one of the tower windows. Martin cursed his cowardice in his head, loudly.

“Do you make New Year’s resolutions?” Carl asked.

Martin couldn’t hold back the light scoff at the topic of conversation. “Sometimes,” he admitted with a sigh, “but I don’t always keep them.”

Carl nudged his shoulder and Martin found Carl looking at him again. He offered Martin a smile so endearing that he couldn’t help but return it.

“Then you’re doing just as good as everyone else,” Carl chuckled.

“Do you? Make, make resolutions, that is,” Martin clarified.

Carl glanced down then back at Martin, his smile softening to something almost shy, making the butterflies fight the beer in Martin’s stomach.

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “When there’s something I really want to change.”

“Like what?”

A shrill kiwi impression sounded from the base of the tower where Dave and Dirk were gathering the rest of the party. Carl and Martin both turned to watch Phil climb the fire truck ladder until he was precariously balanced on the second to the last rung. He reached for the large hand-painted number ten and waved at Dave.

“Everybody ready?” Dave shouted. He held his watch up at eye level. “On my count. Ten!”

Phil tore down the numbers one at a time, struggling to keep up as the crowd counted.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!”

“Career choices,” Carl said suddenly, picking up the conversation at Martin’s question.

Martin looked at his profile in confusion; Carl was still watching Phil tear rapidly at the large numbers.

“Six! Five! Four!”

“Big financial expenditures,” Carl added.

“Three! Two!”

“Taking a chance on long held feelings for a certain airdot captain.”

“What?” Martin asked.

“One!”

Carl finally turned to him, took Martin’s head in both hands, and kissed him.

Martin heard none of the cheering and exuberant shouts that broke out from the party. He was deaf, blind, and numb to everything but the physical fact that _Carl_ was kissing him. It was Carl’s hands held firmly to the sides of his head. It was Carl’s thumb stroking over his cheek.

It was Carl’s lips touching his, their every movement threatening to overload his nervous system.

It was over all too soon after a moment that could’ve been minutes or seconds. Carl pulled back and it was all Martin could do not to whine at the loss of his lips; he didn't even notice he'd spilled his champagne. Carl drew back his hands, offering him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What do you say, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes widened at the hesitancy he heard in Carl’s voice, the hesitancy he realized was dimming Carl’s smile.

“You, you mean that you…” Martin stammered, his halting gestures matching his stuttering speech, “You. You’re saying that you… and, and me and…”

The hesitancy on Carl’s face subtly darkened into unease as Martin wavered. He began to pull away, forcing Martin to grab his shoulders to stop his leave. Martin saw his own surprise reflected in Carl’s eyes and he reminded himself that Carl kissed him. Carl kissed _him_. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping that this time, finally, the words would come out.

“Carl, would you go out with me?” he asked in a rush.

Carl smiled—a real, heartwarming, knee-weakening smile—and breathed a sigh of relief, his unease and tension slipping away under Martin’s fingers.

“Yes,” he answered, leaning forward to give Martin a quick kiss. “Yes. Of course I will.”

Martin grinned, tugging on Carl’s waistcoat to bring him in for a real kiss.

It was toothy, they were laughing, and Martin was so overwhelmed by his uncharacteristic good fortune that he completely forgot to chastise himself for wasting a whole year trying to work up the courage to ask one simple question. He realized, as the kiss deepened, that while it would’ve been nice, the past—all those days he lost out on by being afraid—wasn’t nearly as important as the future; their future.

“Happy New Year, Carl,” Martin wished against his lips.

“Happy New Year, Martin,” Carl said, running his hands through Martin’s hair.

Martin pulled Carl closer, his hands sliding over the taut fabric of Carl’s waistcoat as they made new resolutions together.

Martin had a feeling it was going to be some year.


End file.
